Snowy Moments
by Batshiz
Summary: If there is one thing Toris has learned, it's that you very rarely get what you want.


He sat on the bench, all wrapped up in wool and warmth. He looked back towards the footprints he'd left, having told America he was going to get some groceries. The footprints were fading already, under falling snow. Crisp, white flakes descended from the clouds, caught up by the winds and tossed around, dancing playfully in the air and spiralling to earth.

Lithuania smiled a bitter smile, desperate to remember the bad times, and not the good. He remembered, the first year he'd come to this place, and America had taken him to central park in the snow. He remembered a day spent with Russia outside, the man smiling for once, and although it'd all gone bad, at the end of the day, Lithuania longed for someone to share this moment with.

His tears didn't freeze any longer, not here. Although it was cold, it wasn't quite cold enough to still the quiet droplets of water as they splashed down his face, leaving hot trails of salt.

Toris buried his face in gloved hands, forgetting that his people were happy, forgetting that he was a Nation, and as such, couldn't _really_ feel the pain aching at his heart.

The snow began to settle on his hair, sticking to his coat. It was an odd picture - a man frozen in time, a statue hiding it's face from the world. But statues don't shake, and statues don't sob quietly, and they have no happy memories to block.

He was no statue.

---

It had begun that morning, when Toris had finished making breakfast - pancakes, heavy on the syrup, as usual. He'd looked out of the window - this was Manhattan, a world away from the frosty confines of Russia's home, and yet, Toris spotted an all too familiar figure making his slow, deliberate way up the drive.

Toris' first, acquired instinct was to hide, to pretend they were somewhere else today, but he fought it. He had nothing to fear from the other man now, and he hadn't for a long time. He wouldn't ever have to return to those snowy wastes, and he was safe. In fact, Toris thought to himself as he went for the door, he had every reason to be happy to see Ivan Braginski. They'd seen each other at the last world conference, of course, but that had been purely formal (he blocked the thought that it had been awkward, on both accounts) and it would be nice to talk as friends, for once.

When he opened the door, Ivan was looking up at the petrified tree stood near the path. It's branches were twisted, the leaves which had been there just months ago had dropped, buried and rotten beneath the cold ice. Toris shivered as the open door let cold air in, and he looked up at Ivan as the man finally registered the fact that Toris must be freezing.

"Ah - Russia?" Toris said, his voice a mockery of innocence, betraying nothing of the urges he was having to slam the door in Ivan's face. "Won't you come inside? It's cold..."

Well, thank you, Captain Obvious. Fake smiles and silent greetings later, and Ivan stood in the hall, admiring the home as if he'd never been there before. It was a godsdamned mansion compared to the shack that Russia lived in now. The kind of thing they'd once spent whole decades sharing, before _someone_ had ripped it apart one day in a fit of anger. After that, the bosses decided to keep their Nation on a shorter leash. It made Toris' life even more of a chore.

"No, thank you." Ivan said, in response to Toris' offer to take his coat. Of course, he never normally took it off, but the heating was on full. The gloves, too, stayed on, as did the ever-present scarf.

They spent a few moments just standing around awkwardly, neither really trusting themselves to be able to start a civil conversation.

"I should go wake Alf - ah, America up." Toris said, finally, heading for the stairs. Ivan overtook him, nudging him aside with a heavy arm.

"Toris, I am perfectly capable of doing that myself." the Russian replied, with the smile Toris had come to regard as cruel. He was halfway up the stairs before Toris could recover from his shock, and he had to run to keep up. He was out of practice, he realised, because before he could voice his protests, Ivan had opened the door to Alfred's room, closing it behind him.

A whole agonising minute later, and Lithuania had thrown it open, in defence of his friend, of course. Not that he was in the least bit suspicious of Ivan's motives.

They were kissing. And hugging. And Alfred was laughing. They were ... _happy._

Toris blinked, slowly. He took a few steps backwards, and shut the door. he stood there, for a few moments, still in shock.

_Pancakes._ He thought, numbly, and made his way downstairs, willing himself to simply disappear.

---

Toris looked up, at last, and did a double-take. How long had Ivan been stood there? He tried, and failed, to regain his composure. Too late. Toris flinched on instinct as Ivan took a seat on the bench next to him.

"I-I slipped on the ice." He managed, between trying to keep the wavering sobs out of his voice.

"Of course you did." Ivan replied, without batting an eyelid. Well, he of all people should be used to seeing Toris like this. For some reason, that brought more tears to Toris' green eyes. He turned away, without even the will to run and hide himself from further embarrassment. Ivan knew him best, after all, and there was no point keeping up this charade of worrying about his appearance, of all things.

They sat in silence, as the snow fell down around them. This time, it was Ivan who started the conversation.

"You didn't know." He stated, simply. Toris didn't have to ask what he was referring to. If they'd at least bothered to tell him that as of yesterday, they were... were... well. If they'd have told him, it wouldn't have made it any less painful, but at least Toris wouldn't have spent the day running around after the happy couple. He'd have been at home, cleaning up after nobody but himself.

The crying just wouldn't stop. Toris hated himself for it, but that's what happened when he kept so much emotion pent up for hours. He'd already managed to give himself a stomachache. He didn't even resist when Ivan put an arm around him, burying him in soft, warm fabric.

Russia never used to be warm.

"I'm going home tomorrow." Toris said, decisively, his voice muffled somewhat by the heavy coat. He meant it, too. He would go home, back to the country he'd longed for for god only knows how many years. The country he'd then run away from in favour of a dream. Coffee and warm smiles.

"Do you love me, Toris?" Russia asked, his voice lending no sinister provocation. The question brought back memories, of pain and ice-cold, drunken evenings. Toris shivered, and reflexively replied.

"Of course I do." He murmured, old habits resurfacing. He tried again, more softly. "I... do." That time, he meant it. More than he'd ever meant anything he'd said to the Russian, excepting, of course "I'm never coming back, not again."

Well look at what well meant did. Here he was, lying in his enemy's arms, baring his soul to the demon, not for the first time, either.

_We understand each other, you and I. _Toris frowned at another memory. It was so much easier to be cruel when your target was right there in front of you.

"But, do you love Alfred?" Toris asked, a hint of sadness still clinging to his voice - but this was becoming one of their games now, and he was reasonably certain that he'd lose either way.

"Perhaps." Ivan replied, and Toris sat up, unconsciously pushing the Russian away. All trace of his footprints were gone now, the way he'd come here obscured.

Silence, once more. Toris wasn't unhappy any longer - his grief had faded into anger the moment he realised that Russia was only playing with him. And Alfred, he added, remembering his loyalty.

"Why do you do this to me?" Toris said, his quiet manner gone for the moment. Here, blinded by the falling snow, they weren't Nations, and they weren't old friends, and nothing had happened - and Toris could allow himself to be angry again, just this once. He didn't wait for a reply.

"Why must you leave me with nothing to call my own? Why do you insist upon breaking all the things I cherish? Why?!" Toris' voice was raised, now, and he was more than glad that nobody was around to hear it.

Ivan shook his head, his anger, as always, lying dormant. For now, at least. Toris' mind wandered to the thought of that same anger being taken out on some innocent fool. Alfred, maybe. Why did the idea make him feel so vindicated?

"And so, you too... like Alfred?" False innocence was back into Ivan's speech. He looked the very picture of simple joy, all blond hair and puzzlement.

Toris didn't answer, out of fear that he would say something that someone, somewhere, would regret. Instead, he trained his gaze on the frozen earth. He didn't know how long he stood there, in his own dark imaginings, only that when he looked up again, Russia was gone, leaving nothing but quickly fading footprints on the cold ground, and across his already trampled heart.


End file.
